One of the lessons with which I walked away from my upbringing was the value of generosity. As far back as I can remember, my parents have always committed their time, their money and their emotional support to causes that are important to them. My mother is the quintessential do-gooder. When she wasn't working, she was a professional volunteer. To give you an example of the way in which her mind works, one year on Mothers' Day, she present my siblings and me with gifts. On that one day of the year when we were supposed to be appreciating and spoiling her, she felt compelled to express how grateful she was for the gift of motherhood. No doubt, her example, as well as my father's, inspired me to dedicate my professional life to service, only I never would have predicted it would materialize in the form of my becoming a rabbi.
As a rabbi of a synagogue, as a professional in the world of non-profit, I've come to treasure the role of the volunteer. So much of what I work to build would never happen and never succeed without the support of the volunteer. And as the director of a small 5K race, I have learned that the sort of sporting events I love would be disastrous without the presence of the volunteer. Registration would quickly descend into raw chaos. Aid stations would be undersupplied and unprepared. Race routes would be downright dangerous without road marshalls controlling traffic. I've volunteered at a variety of events and, honestly, I always enjoy it. As much as I love participating, there's something refreshing about keeping on my jeans, not lining up at the start with a racing heart and an anxious stomach, and yet still enjoying the thrill of competition. I love being part of a well-oiled machine that is a successful race.
In my new obession with the Ironman, I have committed to learning as much as possible about the event. I can only imagine how many volunteers each Ironman requires to get competitors through 140.6 miles in 17 hours or less. In my research, I've come across two specific volunteer roles at the IM- the peelers and the catchers.
Peelers and catchers are exactly what they sound like. Peelers literally peel the wetsuits off of the soaking bodies of competitors as they exit the 2.4 mile swim section of the race. Catchers are waiting just beyond the finish line to catch competitors when their bodies, unable to take even 1 more step, collapse. Personally, I have my concerns about each role. As a competitor, I can imagine that I'll value the help removing my wetsuit. I've learned first hand that wetsuits are easier to remove than they are to put on. However, as a long time cyclist and runner, I've never developed a whole lot of upper body strength. After swimming my way through the 2.4 mile course, I imagine that my arms will be pretty tired. Removing that wet wetsuit could be a complicated proposition. I just wonder if any of those peelers have ever peeled off more than they were supposed to. As I approach the finish of the swim, I suppose I may be asking myself if I tied my tri shorts tight enough to sustain the vigor of the enthusiastic peeler.
As for the catcher, my concern is more for the volunteer than it is for myself. As a confessed germaphobe, I can't think of anything much worse than an athlete collapsing on me after having completed a journey of 140.6 miles. Let's be certain, nobody who makes it to the finish line smells like roses. Sweat. Snot. Spit. And for those who are competing for place or time and cannot sacrifice the lost minute or two it takes to use the mid-course port-a-potties, God knows what else they're soaking in at the finish.
To the peelers and catchers at Ironman Wisconsin 2012, thank you. You catchers, thank you for enduring hell, by catching me when I really smell. And you peelers, thank you for your firm strong grip, but please engage a gentle rip.
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